They remained in silence for what seemed like a very long time. “I’ve heard a saying before,” Anden said, “that great warriors are remembered with awe by their enemies.”
Ayt stood, in one slow but smooth motion that hinted at her once peerless poise and strength. “Then I ask you to remember me, Kaul-jen.”
Kaul-jen. At his Academy graduation ceremony, the crowd had shouted the name at him. How astonished and mortified he’d been back then, to be hailed as someone he was not.
Anden touched his clasped hands to his head and bent into a salute. “Goodbye, Ayt-jen.” He turned away, walked out of the room, and left the building.
_______
Outside, Anden buttoned up his coat and walked, letting the brisk air fill his lungs and clear his head. People were sweeping the burnt remnants of firecrackers off the streets and standing on ladders, taking down New Year’s decorations. Some businesses in Little Hammer still had pale green lanterns in their front windows, but others had changed over to white, and a few windows were empty, their owners undecided, waiting to see how territorial jurisdictions would shake out. When he crossed into the Armpit, two of the clan’s Fingers posted along the district border touched their foreheads and dipped into shallow salutes of recognition as he passed.
Anden stopped on the street corner and raised his face to the sky. He felt heavy and light at the same time, and the world seemed sharp and beautiful even in a way that jade senses could not improve. There was an ache in his chest—some of the grief that had been arriving in pieces—but also relief, and love. Love for the life pumping through his heart and veins, love for those dear to him—the ones who were gone and the ones who remained, and love also for his city, for Janloon—a place as fierce and honest, as messy and proud and enduring as its Green Bone warriors.
Anden hailed a taxi. When it pulled up to the curb, he got into the back seat and said, “The Twice Lucky restaurant.”
The driver looked at Anden in the rearview mirror. He was a sallow, unsmiling man with a crooked face that made the skin around one of his eyes sag. “That old place in the Docks?”
“That’s the one,” Anden said.
The driver hesitated. He looked as if he wanted to say something, then he pulled the cab away from the sidewalk and into traffic. “I can’t believe that place is still around,” he grumbled, flicking another glance back at Anden. “There are better spots, you know.”
“It’s an old favorite,” Anden said.
“The only reason it’s still there is because it’s been around so long,” sniffed the cab driver. “I heard it was headed downhill, but then the Une family hired some young, internationally renowned chef up from Lukang to change things, so it’s got a new look. It’s survived enough wars by now that I guess nothing can take it down.”
The light turned red. The driver stopped the cab and turned over his shoulder. “I used to work there once, you know. As a dishwasher. A long time ago. I was just a kid back then. A dumb kid with big dreams.”
Anden said, “We were all like that once.”
“Yeah, well, my life could’ve been different. Real different.” The light turned green and the driver turned back around and took his foot off the brake. “Of course, I could be dead, so there’s that.” He laughed. It was an unpleasant sound.
They pulled up in front of the Twice Lucky and the man hit the meter. “Did you know that the Twice Lucky is a spot for No Peak clan Green Bones? The Kauls come here. Even the Pillar himself. The old one, that is. Who knows about the new one.” He took Anden’s money and Anden motioned for him to keep the change. “The shit I’ve seen, keke. I sure could tell you some stories,” the driver said. “Stories about the clan.”
“I’m sure you could,” Anden said. “There are a lot of them.” He got out of the taxi and walked through the double doors of the restaurant to have brunch with his family.
Acknowledgments
When I first began writing the Green Bone Saga, it would’ve been difficult to imagine this moment: the end of a journey much longer and greater than I anticipated, one that pushed me to my creative limits and occupied a majority of my waking hours for six years. Honestly, I’m a little dazed. It’s with deep pride, relief, and sadness that I imagine you, reader, turning the final page on the Kaul family and seeing these words.
My gratitude extends first and foremost to the many enthusiastic readers and reviewers who spread the word about this epic urban fantasy gangster family saga of my heart. Whenever the writing was difficult （and there were many such times）， an email or tweet or piece of fan art would appear to remind me that there were clan loyalists who wanted to see this story through as much as I did. These books wouldn’t have found their audience without you.